Pink Icing and Butter
by Safui
Summary: Nick and Jess bake a cake for Winston's birthday party. A heated moment is shared and various shenanigans ensue.


**Disclaimer: I do not own New Girl, any of the characters portrayed in this fan fiction or any of the episodes. This is my first M-Rated fic and I know my measurements are of the metric system, so please don't be too harsh on me :)**

She walks with a spring in her step. Her cascading curls are thrown in all directions over her shoulders, landing in neat little ringlets, bouncing with her as she moves. Every so often, her yellow, summer dress, fitted with a Peter-Pan collar, just to make it even more Jess-like, would lift slowly, exposing a little more of her soft, ivory skin to Nick to lay his eyes on for a brief moment. Except maybe, perhaps a supermarket is not the place for him to be portraying any signs of even slight arousal. He may as well be a twelve year old boy who'd just discovered the words 'foreplay' and 'clitoris'; with the way his mind is playing with him.

"Okay, so, we need flour, eggs, butter, pink icing."

"Jess I'm pretty sure no man wants a home-baked birthday cake, let alone have it decorated with pink squiggles and polka dots."

She turns to look at him, purses her lips and holds up a sticky note. A list, written in calligraphy-like script, is in front of his face before he has time to wave it away and push it back to her.

"Do you see this list, Miller? Do you see 'Snide comments from a grumpy roommate' written _anywhere_ on this list?"

"No?" He questions, slightly taken aback by her sudden catty attitude.

"Exactly, so shut it and push that cart like it's the last thing you do." She snaps, finishing off with one of her brazen smiles and runs off ahead of him in seeing the 'Confectionery and Baking Goods' sign hanging above a reasonably packed aisle of mothers and their children. One of Nick Miller's favourite scenarios to be dragged into, not that Jess seems too disconcerted by it. In fact, as he pushes the cart behind her, he's surprised she isn't delving in and trying to befriend half the children, or even trying to convince the parents into letting her bring them home. One of her more inexpedient qualities, though it would probably come in handy when she herself becomes a mother.

_To his child._

"Nick, can you stop daydreaming for a second and get up there and get that sack of flour down for me?"

Startled, he snaps out of his thoughts and turns his attention to the petite brunette, stood on her tiptoes, _which is leaving nothing to the imagination when her dress begins to slowly crawl back up her thigh._ He moves over to her, shifting his weight onto one foot and reaches up above the two, bringing the heavy kilo bag down and hands it to her, his skin brushing off hers, sending electric shocks through his body. And then their eyes meet. And neither of them says a word. Their surroundings become a mere blur in the outline of their vision. It's like the jar-opening incident all over again. His breath catches in his throat as he goes to speak. As does hers. And it's all very magical for a succinct moment.

"Excuse me sir, could I get in there please?" A plump, middle aged woman with a pixie-style haircut and a flushed face fits herself right in between the two, not noticing what's been going on. And before Nick has a moment to respond, she has her flour and has sauntered back to her cart, coaxing along ,most probably her bratty child, who had been taking things and obnoxiously throwing things into everyone else's baskets while their backs were turned.

"Crazy little tykes." Nick utters, plastering on a wooden smile, pretending as though he doesn't want to knock some sense into that kid using the force of his fist. He isn't exactly sure what has compelled him to pretend he actually _likes_ children. Jess knows damn well that he doesn't. In fact, he'd expressed his bitterness towards them strongly in a text message less than four weeks ago. And he had thrown in a few descriptive images for detail. Then again, four weeks ago he hadn't been on a kind-of-not-really-a-date with her and he certainly hadn't pushed her up onto their kitchen table, fit to rip her clothes of as their lips locked, tongues fought with each other, and his hands explored every inch of her slender, graceful body. Right at this moment, he jumps at any chance he gets to change his attitude towards life to appeal more to Jess. Whether it's his antagonistic approach towards kids, or his hatred of musicals. Whatever it took, he would be sure he did it.

She pulls the cart from his grip and tumbles the flour into it. "Miller, you are really deep in thought today."

"Is that a bad thing? I thought you liked it when I pondered about life and tried to find _meaning_." He responds, sarcasm present in his tone.

"It's good for when you're trying to write. Not so good for when you're in a busy supermarket at rush-hour on a Saturday." She lightly thumps his chest with the back of her hand, causing him to dip forward. He smiles sheepishly, keeping a distance between him and her to avoid anymore risqué encounters in such a public place. It's probably best for the both of them. She trails in front of him, stopping suddenly to look down at her list. Something Nick has never understood. She has a list for almost everything. Shopping, baking, and the order of T.V programs she has to watch. It's all too organised for Nick's liking. Every so often, she'll ask for him to grab things for her, even if they aren't at a distinctive height, and he'll comply without argument. Which is a rather copious change. Usually, they would be at each other's throats over every small detail. But neither of them question it.

It isn't 'til they reach the cash register when their behaviour starts getting even more off-balance. Jess reaches into her purse prior to letting Nick unload the cart for her. And in noticing that there is a rather large queue forming behind the two, he retrieves his wallet from his back pocket, courtesy of Schmidt's suggestion that day he was convinced he was dying of cancer.

"Here you go pal." He says to the cashier, handing a fifty dollar bill over and adds a little nod of appreciation. Jess, who has finally fought through the cluster of tissues, makeup and keys in her purse only to find Nick, clutching onto the paper bag, receipt in his free hand.

"It's on me kid. I didn't wanna have to get into a fist-fight with that guy behind us. Chicago men don't like being held up in queues, Day, don't forget it."

"How do you know he was from Chicago?"

"I got the vibe."

"Nick you still get confused about the difference between affect and effect."

"It doesn't make sense to me! They sound too similar, it's an evil mind game played by smart-ass know it all's who think they're better than us common folk."

"Nick I'm not running through literary terms with you here."

"I didn't ask you to."

And now she is visibly irritable. She quickens her pace and walks off in front of him, while he slows down. In fact, he stops. And he stares at her. Not specifically at her ass, but somewhat at her ass. The 'plywood' ass that resembles nothing even close to plywood. And that dress is still doing her no favours with the wind slowly picking up and lifting the skirt of her dress as it raises and falls in rhythm with it. He is mostly staring at her physical being, mentally wishing that Schmidt had never bought that damn fish tank and by now he could have his hand wrapped around her waist as he pushes the cart, her head resting on his shoulder as they walk to the car together. The void that he feels, deep, somewhere within himself, not his soul though, Nick Miller doesn't believe in all that 'Chi' nonsense that those infomercials kept lecturing him about. That void is slowly becoming apparent to him. And he can tell that Jess is the only one who can fill it. Not that he has any physical proof. But they share meaningful looks and constant 'heated' squabbles with each other so often that the world should probably be holding a sign above his head saying 'I love Jessica Day.'

She turns around. He is still standing, his eyes almost drifting off in two different directions. And he's got a lopsided grin on his face, and she is becoming increasingly infatuated with him in this clumsy state, while simultaneously becoming even more frustrated with him for holding her up.

"Miller!" She snaps sharply and gestures towards the car. "Park your day-dreaming ass over here and help me load these into the trunk."

The sun hits her face just at the right angle, highlighting her defined jawbone and her little button nose, which is scrunched up as she squints her eyes against the strong L.A light. Those huge, enticing blue eyes. And now he finds himself back in his thoughts. It isn't until she has him by his forearm and guides him to the car that he finally comes back to earth, full-time. She forces him into the driver's seat and throws him the keys. Probably to avoid coming into contact with him. And he is having none of it. He doesn't care how public it is, it's only a matter of time before he becomes lost in his fantasies of Jess while driving and crashes straight into the side of their loft. He has to take action. And that he does. He drops the keys, causing Jess to start and miss the buckle to clasp her seatbelt into. He cups her face with both hands and meets her lips with his. It's slow and tender. There aren't any tongues involved. He can tell she's hesitant. She is a very discrete person when it comes to public displays of affection, and while she doesn't stop him, she makes sure to keep him at a reasonable speed. She throws her hands over his shoulders and holds onto the fabric of his shirt, delving deeper into him. Her face radiates heat onto his, heightening his desire to have his way with her, then and there. And he almost does. But she begins to pull back when she feels him nibble softly on her bottom lip and he moves his hand lower down her body. She lets him finish, before gently pushing him away and lowering her head. Her lips don't feel as worked as they usually do after he kisses her. They aren't throbbing. And she is sure that she now has peach lipstick smeared all over her face. Not that Nick is in any position to say anything about it.

He puts his hands on the steering wheel, facing away from her, while her eyes bore into his profile, almost burning into him. He wants her. She wants him. And right now the guy behind them wants them to hurry the hell up and get out of the car park before he blows them out of it. The ride home is quiet. Despite a cough from Jess or a complaint from Nick about how people over the age of seventy should not be given permission to drive on busy roads. Especially not while he's behind the wheel, and especially not while his sexual frustration is gradually taking over his knowledge of the road and speed limits. This is not a great time to be Nick Miller.

They arrive back at the loft. It's empty. It seems to empty way too much recently.

"So, when do you wanna start?" Jess asks, rocking back and forth, hands on her hips.

"Start? Start what, Jess?" He looks frightened. Everything Jess says, he interprets as being a 'come at me' statement and he has to pull back at his own imagination because if he didn't, he's pretty sure Jess would already be stark naked and bent over the counter. And that is _totally_ not Nick's style. She returns his question with a raised eyebrow and lifts the paper bag a little higher, shaking it so that the contents make a ruffling noise. "We didn't go to CVS to buy ingredients and then leave them sitting here for the next year, did we?"

Winston's birthday cake. Of course. And after all the commotion with the flour.

But wait, she expects _him_ to help her? The guy who decided to get his hands tangled in the abundance of yarn she had used to make her grandma that lovely...That scarf? He's not really sure what that thing was. But even so, he swears she has more sense than to let him touch any utensils that could potentially hurt and or kill. Which, in the hands of him, is anything. And it isn't long before she's shoving a bowl and a spoon from the cupboard into his hands and is already setting out to measure the flour and butter.

"Jess, what are we making that we need all of this stuff?"

Jess looks up and rolls her sleeves to just above her elbow. "Well, we don't actually need all of it. I just figured they'd come in handy whenever I wanted to make something a little more exotic."

"So that explains the 'light Demerara sugar' you have here." He lifts it from the bag and reads the fancy-ass brand labelled across the front.

"No, we are using that." Jess mutters as she tips her now measured flour into a large bowl. "Also, I need it now." And Nick notices how, when she takes it from him, that she doesn't make eye contact. In fact, she's going out of her way to keep her head bowed low and he's certain that the curtain of hair in front of her face was not there prior to arriving home. He's trying to be as casual as possible. Because that's exactly what girls like; A man who kisses them and then runs for the hills.

And so he decides to do the opposite of that, and stands right beside her, dropping the spoon and bowl. He takes the stick of butter and analyses it for a brief moment before turning to her.

"What do I do with this?"

"Did you measure it out to the right amount?"

"No."

"So do that."

He looks at her. And he continues to look at her, and then back at the stick of butter. And then back at her.

"How?"

And now it's her turn to look at him, mouth dropped open and her eyebrows are low and her eyes are full of judgement. Which is less than comforting for Nick.

"Really, Miller?" She points towards the weighing scales and raises her lowered eyebrow. She steps back to let him through and to observe as he drops the stick fairly aggressively onto the metal plate.

"Now what?"

"Are you playing dumb? Have you never used one of these things before?"

"Uhm..."

"Ugh, let me in there." And her body presses gently against his as she takes the battered stick of butter and puts it down on the counter, chopping it in two with a knife and she hands one half back to him.

"See how much that weighs."

And he can only assume that means to place it back on the scales. Which he does. But this time, he doesn't need to ask her to know that the little round circle thing with an assortment of numbers would be his guide. It reads 150 grams, or something near 150 grams. He looks to her, eyes wide and hands in his pockets. He too has begun rocking back and forth. And she can't help but smile at his goofiness.

"Good job, Nick. But we only need 75 grams." She reaches in front of him, hitting off the side of his jeans pocket. And he has to restrain himself once again. She cuts it in half again, only a little more than last time, and puts the smaller half onto the scales. And it feels like this whole cake is circulating on whether or not the measurements of the damn butter are precise. So Nick decides to start unloading the rest of the ingredients. Eggs, icing, cocoa powder , et cetera. He figures that being helpful his way was the best way, which was actually hardly helpful at all, nevertheless, helpful. He merely observes as she whizzes around the kitchen with whisks and electric hand-mixers (that he isn't even aware they own). He occasionally hands her a spoon or a cloth to wipe up egg-shell debris or loose flour. It's probably the most productive he's going to be all day. She finally has the batter made and tipped into a cake-dish.

"A simple chocolate cake with a special Jessica Day touch." She beams, holding the filled dish in one hand just level to her neck.

_Two sweet things parallel to each other._

And then it's in the oven. The steam fogs up the lenses of her glasses as she opens the door.]

"Guess it works." He says sarcastically.

"Ha ha, very funny." She responds, wiping her lenses on the hem of her dress, which she has somehow managed to get absolutely no mess on, even without an apron.

"Time to get cleaning." She gestures to the clutter around the two, something that Nick hasn't really noticed, seeing as it isn't a step down from what his bedroom normally looks like, bar all the baking equipment.

"You want me to clean, Jess?" He asks as though he hasn't been expecting it for the past twenty minutes.

"Yes. This is the fun part. We get to play with soap-bubbles!"

And she's already found herself in the cleaning supplies closet, pulling out a bottle of pink dish-washing liquid. It smells like grapefruit, and Nick wants in on it. So he does the first thing that comes to mind, and pushes himself in front of the sink before Jess can even put the clutter of bowls and cutlery beside it. This clearly works in his favour, because when he does so, he manages to shift Jess, causing her to drop everything around her. It all crashes to the floor.

"God, Nick! It's great that you're trying to be helpful and all but could you tone it down on the excitement?"

"Oh, man, sorry Jess." He replies, rubbing the back of his neck and he bends down with her to assist her in clearing up the clutter around them.

"Guess I should stick to observing huh?"

He leans over her to pick up a stray fork, coated with raw egg, and as he brings it back to the mess, his eyes meet with Jess', who has been staring at him for some time. Her breathing is shallow. He isn't sure of what exactly is happening until it's her turn to initiate. She grabs him by the centre of his shirt and pulls him towards her, this time, kissing him hungrily. And he returns the favour. And he sees that she shares the same frustration that he did earlier in the car, which explains her cattiness. But he doesn't have time to be thinking about that right now, because they're now on their feet, and she's leaning up against the counter as he takes the back of her head, pulling it just close enough so that her nose is scrunched up against his cheek and memories of that night of True American come flooding back, the way that he had kissed her. And he was determined to make this experience last longer, and have less serious consequences. So he does the next best thing he can think of. He lifts her up onto the counter, not surprised by how light she is and how easy it is to move her so quickly. She complies without struggle, and she has her hands draped around his neck again, and there are tongues this time. She is hungering for the taste of his lips. She lets his tongue wander around her mouth, and she quickly returns the favour, longing for it to be elsewhere. He then lets his lips trail down her neck, planting small, quick kisses along it it until he hits a sensitive spot, causing her to let out a soft moan. It's the best damn thing he's heard all day. And he decides he isn't letting it end there. And clearly, neither is she. Her dress is still doing no favours, but this time, more so for him. He is quick to take hold of her thigh, resting his hand just close enough to make her shift in her spot.

"God, Nick..." She whispers. Just her saying his name like that makes him want to lose control, then and there. But he feels he owes it to her to let her savour the moment. He closes the gap between them once again, one hand resting on the small of her back to keep her stable, and the other, roaming up and down her thigh, caressing gently as she leans closer and closer to him. She is craving him. He fits his thigh in between her legs, teasing her more. He tests her self control, and he is clearly coming out stronger, as this time her moans are slightly more audible and her breathing is becoming more laboured. She spreads herself more, trying to send him messages, which he is receiving, but at the same time, he loves the control he has over her. Meanwhile, he is still kissing her with a great passion that has been burning within him all day. She rocks gently as he moves his hand up and down, picking up speed with every caress. She pulls back, clearly having enough of this teasing business, and undoes the buttons on the back of her dress. He helps her to lift it over her head, and her porcelain skin is finally exposed. There she sat. Dressed in nothing but matching purple and white polka dot lace lingerie and ballet flats, atop their kitchen counter, where Schmidt was adamant they not place raw meat or any form of hazard to their health, let alone a half naked woman, who just so happened to be his roommate.

"Schmidt's gonna freak." Nick laughs, his voice low and husky. And she responds by flashing one of her alluring Jess Day smiles, and he pulls her back into his arms, planting yet another kiss upon her lips, and then back to her neck. He decides that this isn't going to be one of those 'quick let's get it over with' sex sessions. He wants to make sure that he satisfies Jess in every way possible. And the next few words roll off his tongue effortlessly.

"You are a beautiful woman, Jessica."

And that's what does it.

"God Nick, I want you so much." She moans into his ear, hooking her teeth onto his earlobe and pulling at it softly. It's a new move for her, but she doesn't exactly feel like there's anything orthodox going on at the moment, and she goes for it. He doesn't have a problem with it either. He's a bit surprised, but he doesn't complain. In fact, having her initiate only helps him with his current arousal, which is not far off from having his trousers give and burst open. Which is probably a good thing because by now, Jess has noticed the raging bulge in his pants and has begun tugging at his belt and pulling it undone. She is fit to rip his pants off bit by bit at this stage, but he decides to take control once again and brings himself up closer to her, thrusting gently against her.

"Oh, Nick." She groans through gritted teeth. She doesn't like this. He knows how turned on she is. He has yet to feel the heat radiating from between her legs, but the expression on her flushed, red face should give it away. Which is why the next thing he does is a big relief to her. He pulls back slightly, giving room between the two, and begins running a finger along the fabric of her panties, never breaking eye contact. She lets out a sharp breath and bites on her bottom lip, arching herself towards him.

"Please, Nick." She sighs, grabbing onto his shoulder, tugging him in closer. He grins. The heat coming off of her is immense, and he wants nothing more than to satisfy her, good and hard. But his needs would have to wait. He pulls aside the fabric, letting two fingers dance up and down her opening, and finally lets them slide in, in slow, gentle movements, in and out. She arches her hips even more.

"Come on, Nick. Why are you being so gentle?" She groans. And once she's said that, he's picking up the pace, pumping his fingers in and out of her. God she's so wet. It's effortless to curl his fingers upwards and back out again, making sure to hit her in all the right spots and getting her to express the same "Oh God!"s, only louder and quicker.

"Oh Nick, oh my gosh." And those seem to be the only words she can utter before she feels herself getting close. Once he feels her walls begin to throb, he slows down, his eyes still locked on hers. She lets them shut a few times, ready for the wonderful sensation to flood every last nerve in her body. But she is disappointed when she feels him slowing down and he finally withdraws his fingers. And then he does something she's never expected out of Nicholas Miller. He places his fingers into his mouth, licking them dry, and he smiles at her. All she can do is slump back on the counter, breathless.

"Wow, Nick. Do you wanna finish what you've started there, partner?" She says in her best, although heavy, southern accent, coupled with some arm swings. Nick frowns, and places another kiss on her lips, letting her taste what he had. His stubble scratches her delicate skin, tenuously. He is not about to let her dampen the mood like Schmidt's god-forsaken aquarium. And then he lowers his pants, pulling each leg out of them, and unbuttons his flannel. He reaches down into his pocket, retrieves his wallet, and pulls out a golden wrapper. Jess begins to run her fingers over and around his boxers while he tears the wrapper open with his teeth, only making Jess lust for him more.

"Take these off." She demands, pulling at the elastic on his underwear. "I want them off."

"Someone's demanding."He replies with a sheepish grin spread across his face as he commands to her wish. His erection is comes as a shock to Jess. Only now does she realize how much she wants, _needs _him in her. Like, now. She takes the condom wrapper from his grasp and slowly rolls it over his shaft, not delaying with it.

"Come on, Miller, what are you waiting for?" She insists, seductively. And Nick can't hold on much longer. He grabs her by the small of her back, holding her in place, and she wraps her legs around his waist as he slowly enters her and begins thrusting.

"Ah, God." He groans, moving in and out of her gradually. She inches herself closer and tries to coax him to move faster, not wanting to rush the whole scenario, while simultaneously, not wanting to drag it out for the next seven hours.

"Nicholas."

"Jessica."

He doesn't hesitate with going that bit quicker, her heart is pounding as he thrusts in and out of her, hitting her g-spot every time and she can feel herself getting close again. Her moans are more relaxed, while his are quite audible and a little loud. He picks up the pace quite clearly, making more swift moves and he leans forward again, kissing her to mask her moans, which are not doing much for him and his holding up. Faster, harder, and finally he feels her walls closing again. He takes this as a signal to finally let her have what she missed out on during foreplay and begins moving faster, taking in every moan as a warning sign.

"Nick, oh my gosh." She digs her nails into his back and rests her head on his shoulder as he pushes inside of her one last time, this time with more force, and she feels her body let go. Her orgasm floods through her veins, and rushes over her. She clings onto him, riding out the waves and muffling a string of obviously satisfied phrases into his shoulder. It isn't long before he follows her, stopping inside of her and letting out a final 'Jessica' before he lets go, his head dropping just slightly. He pulls out of her, but she doesn't let go of him. Their eyes lock and they share one final kiss, each of them breathing heavily.

"That was amazing, Nick." She sighs, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"You're amazing, Jessica."

And then the smell of burning finally tears both of them out of their little moment, and Jess is quick to hop down from the counter, grab her oven mitts and rescue her pre-sex cake.

"I think it's burned, Jess." He glances over her shoulder, staring at the blackened tin, while slipping his trousers back on.

"Really Nick?" She responds. Her tone sounds sarcastic but she isn't convincing him. He wraps his hands around her waist, making sure she knows that what just happened isn't some sleazy, friends with benefits type hook-up. Instead, he plants a kiss on her cheek from behind, making her smile and whispers into her ear.

"What shall we do now, Miss Day?"

Jess turns around to return the kiss, before releasing herself from his grip.

"Well, we still have this mess to clean up."

She slips back into her dress, which has become a crinkled heap on the floor, and places both hands on his shoulders.

"We should probably get started on that."

"But you're tired, Jessica."

"I am not. Now come on we have to-."

"Sssh, Jess. Let's just go watch some T.V, Schmidt won't be home 'til ten and Winston will probably stay the night at Daisy's. We can buy him a damn cake."

She shrugs and shakes her head. Nick wraps an arm around her shoulder, guiding her to the couch, where she can do nothing but lean on him, her head resting on his chest and one arm around his torso, while he holds her in his arms.

"What do you wanna watch, Jess?"

"Mmm, can we just stay like this for a while?"

He looks down at her, once again, meeting her eyes, which are stormy blue and clouded over with satisfaction.

"Sure kid, whatever you need. And you never got to use your pink icing."

Jess smiles up at him, cheekily.

"I think I've got better plans for that icing, Miller."


End file.
